Wild is the Wind
by slaysvamps
Summary: The Winchester brothers go looking for answers to questions about their father’s past. John/OFC
1. Chapter 1

Title: Wild is the Wind  
Author: Slaysvamps  
Pairing: John/OFC  
Characters: John, Dean, Sam, OC  
Warnings: Angst, Adult Situations & Language  
Stats: 9 chapters, 10,642 words total  
Spoilers: IMTOD.  
Complete: Yes.  
Disclaimer: If John Winchester belonged to me, I think my husband would be mighty upset. Of course, if I owned the rights to Supernatural, we'd have lots more money so he might not care…  
Summary: The Winchester brothers go looking for answers to questions about their father's past.  
Notes: Beta'd by my best friend lenastockton.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

Josh Reardon was sitting at the bar, nursing a tall bottle of cheap beer. He'd been drinking the same bottle for an hour now, watching the rest of the barroom through the mirror on the wall in front of him. He ignored his own reflection, his blonde hair and blue eyes, tall frame that usually made him the tallest man in the room, but not tonight.

Tonight the tallest man was sitting in a booth along the wall, knocking them back with a man who looked enough like him to be his brother. They'd only been in the bar a few minutes when the older and shorter of the two walked up to the bar.

"Hey, don't I know you?" the man said with a smile. "Didn't you used to work at that motel just out of town?"

Josh smiled a little. "The Tumbleweed. My family owned it until a couple of months ago."

"My friend and me, we stayed there a few times."

Josh looked at the man directly for the first time, taking in the green eyes and short brown hair. "Yeah, I guess I've seen you before."

"Hey, why don't you come have a drink with us?" the man suggested. "Talk about old times. I'll buy you a beer."

With a shrug Josh drained his bottle and gestured to the bartender for another. He followed the man back to his table and sat down to talk. It was a few minutes into the conversation when the taller, younger man spoke.

"Hey, don't you have a sister or something?" he asked in an offhanded fashion. "Where's she living now that the motel sold?"

"Couldn't say," Josh murmured, gazing into his beer. "She got it in her head that she wanted out and as soon as the papers were signed, she went. Haven't seen her since. Couldn't believe she wanted to sell it, really, considering how bad she wanted to stay all those years."

"I guess we didn't know her all that well," the older man replied. "What can you tell us about her?"

**Tumbleweed Motel, December, 1982 **

The first time Emma saw her dark stranger was the day she'd saved a young boy's life. Her parents owned a motel just outside of Redding, Iowa, just off I-169. The tourist trade wasn't enough to make them rich, but it was a living, and in the early months of 1982 it was more than most people in the area had. At seven-years-old she wasn't much aware of the economy or politics, but she knew that her family was better off than a lot of her friends.

The boy had dirty blonde hair and was wearing footed Spiderman pajamas. He'd gotten away from his parents somehow, and there was no adult in sight as he made his way along the side of a black 1967 Impala that was parked in front of room 17.

Emma saw the boy and was looking around for his parents when she heard the truck approaching. She knew from experience that many guests didn't pay much attention to the 10 mph sign her dad had posted and this truck was no exception. As the boy stepped away from the back end of the Impala she started running, hoping to reach him before the truck did. She barely got to him in time.

Afterward she would never remember the moment she reached the boy, never remember grabbing him around the waist and throwing her weight to one side. She did remember, however, the bite of gravel into her elbow and leg and the impact with the ground that forced the air from her lungs.

The boy started crying and tried to wriggle from her arms, but Emma held on to him tightly. Though she was fairly certain the danger was passed, she needed a moment for her brain to tell her arms it was okay to let him go.

"Dean!"

She looked up at the deep sound into the face of the man who would later haunt her dreams. Dean's daddy was tall and handsome, with dark hair and eyes that were filled with worry. The boy wriggled from her arms and ran to his father, who scooped him up and hugged him fiercely.

"You okay, son?" the man asked.

Dean threw his arms around his father's neck and nodded against his skin while Emma concentrated on learning how to breathe again.

"John, did you find him?" A beautiful woman with long blond hair walked out of room number 17. When she saw the man holding the boy, she smiled in relief. "Dean, how in the world did you get out here?"

John handed his son to the woman, who cradled him against the side of her slightly protruding belly. Emma knew the belly meant a baby, because her mom had one just like it.

"I think he's had a bit of a scare, Mary," John told the woman. "Take him inside."

Mary glanced at Emma, who was still lying on the ground, but nodded and took her son inside the motel room.

John crouched beside the young girl. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Emma looked up into his dark eyes, not sure if she should be afraid him or not. Her parents had told her again and again not to talk to any of the guests unless one of them were around too, but John's gentle smile and dark eyes were enough to ease her fears. "Yeah," she gasped breathily.

"Just try to breathe," he soothed as he reached out to brush the long blond hair from her blue eyes. "Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?"

"My arm," she replied a voice that was barely over a whisper. The tightness in her chest was easing up now and she was beginning to breathe normally. "And my leg, I think."

"I don't think it's too bad," he told her with a smile as he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his worn jeans and bent his dark head to dab at the blood on her wounds. "We'll get you cleaned up here, all right?"

Ignoring the sting of the cotton on her injuries, Emma studied the stranger's face. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, even more handsome than her daddy. "You've got holes in your face," she whispered, reaching up to touch the deep indentation on his cheek. She was surprised at the warmth of his skin, the feel of his whiskers beneath her finger.

"I suppose I do," he replied with a smile that deepened his dimples. "I think you'll be all right now. Are you staying here with your parents?"

"No, I live here." She scrambled carefully to her feet, her face now level with his.

"You've got quick reflexes, sweetheart," he told her. "You saved my son's life."

Blushing, Emma looked down and ran the toe of her shoe through the gravel at her feet. "I just saw him, is all," she murmured.

"I appreciate you looking out for the boy. He's quite a handful sometimes."

She nodded, looking up into his dark eyes. "You're welcome."

"Emma!"

The girl turned to see her mom bearing down on them, a worried look on her face. "I gotta go," she told the dark stranger. "Maybe I'll see you later." She hurried to meet her mom, telling her quickly what had happened.

When she turned to look back John had gone back into his room. The next morning when she went outside to look the Impala was gone, and so was John Winchester.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

Josh paused long enough to finish off his beer, prompting the younger man to gesture for the waitress to bring another round.

"I remember that," the older man murmured. When the younger man gave him a sharp look, he added, "I mean, I had something like that happen to me too, when I was three or four."

"Dad always said that Emma watched out for that black car for years," Josh continued as if he hadn't heard. "I remember when that car came back, a few years after we remodeled and a couple of months after our mom died. Played some with the boys if I remember right, but it wasn't much fun. The older boy was real protective of the other one, Sammy, I think his name was."

The men across from him exchanged glances, but didn't say a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tumbleweed Motel, Late August, 1989 **

There wasn't much time to relax during the summer at the hotel, with the tourist trade at its peak and all the rooms filled. Her mom had died that spring, leaving more work for Emma as she tried to pick up the slack so their dad wouldn't have to hire extra help they couldn't afford. Her brother Josh tried to help, but he'd just turned six and was more work than help to her. Emma was on her way to check the chemicals in the pool when she nearly tripped over a couple of young boys who'd just come out of room 21.

"Watch it, Sammy," the older boy said, dragging his brother out of the way. "You gotta stick close to me." He was thin for his age, with closely cropped light brown hair.

"I wanna play, Dean," Sammy whined. He was darker than his brother, and even with a puppy dog look on his face, Emma could see the dimples on his cheeks.

"You can, but we gotta watch for cars." It was clear that the older boy was in charge, that he was used to looking out for his brother.

Emma watched as they carefully crossed the parking lot and went into the playground where her younger brother was playing. She remembered the boy she'd once saved and the dark stranger named John. As if the thought of him was enough to bring the memory into the present, her eyes fell on the black Impala parked right in front of her. She'd seen more cars parked in that lot than she could possibly remember, but something about this one reminded her of the man who'd so carefully cleaned her wounds.

Movement behind her made Emma turn and look into the room the boys had come from. Standing in the doorway was the very man she'd been thinking about. She felt warm, flushed, almost as if she'd suddenly gotten a fever. "John," she breathed.

He turned to her in surprise, looking as handsome as she remembered. His hair was disheveled, his chin covered with a dark stubble that did little to hide the dimples in his cheeks. There was deep scratch on his cheek bone that was only a few days old. His dark eyes looked weary, sad, and she wondered what had happened to the smiling man she'd met years before.

"I'm afraid—" he stopped and looked at her, really looked at her in a way that she wasn't used to. Most men looked at her pretty face and budding figure and undressed her with their eyes. Others still dismissed her as a child, but John, he was different. He looked at her as if he could see into her very soul. "I didn't realize," he said with a small smile. "Place looks a lot different then it did last time I was here."

"My parents remodeled a few years ago." She found a smile on her face and didn't remember how it'd gotten there. "Your son sure has grown." She looked toward the playground, to the boy named Dean. He looked about ten or eleven now, the younger boy maybe six, the same age as her brother Josh.

"Both of them have," he replied with a hint of pride in his voice. "Like weeds."

"I'm sure you and your wife are proud of them." She glanced up at his face, and saw the grief he tried to hide.

"Mary, she passed away a few years back." His voice was filled with sorrow, showing her a glimpse of a much deeper wound than the one on his cheek. "Sammy was just a baby."

"I'm sorry," she told him. "It must be hard, raising the boys yourself."

"We get by." He looked across the lot to where Dean was pushing Sammy in a swing.

For a long moment there was silence between them as John watched his sons and Emma watched John. If someone had asked her, she wouldn't have been able to explain what about the older man drew her attention. There was something about him that made it nearly impossible for her to look away.

After a moment he looked back at her and smiled. "I never did get your name, sweetheart," he said in a low voice that sent chills running up her spine.

"Emma," she replied. "Emma Reardon."

He held his hand out toward her. "Pleased to meet you, Emma Reardon."

She reached out and let his hand swallow hers. Looking down at their joined hands she was amazed by the warmth of his skin, the way that heat radiated along her skin to the pit of her stomach. Blushing, she swallowed roughly.

"Daddy!" Sam called from the playground. "Come play with us!"

A smile crossed John's face, the first relaxed smile Emma had seen that afternoon. "I'll be right there, boys," he called back.

Emma let go of his hand and took a step toward the pool. "I hope you have a nice stay, Mr. Winchester," she murmured.

"Thank you, Emma," he replied.

She loved the way he said her name, loved the deep scratching of his voice and the way it seemed to vibrate deep inside of her. She watched him walk across the parking lot, wondering if he'd be gone before she woke up in the morning. He wasn't.

John and his boys stayed at the motel for a week. Though Emma was curious about the family, a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hung on the door, foiling her plan to learn more about them by cleaning their room. She got to know the boys a little, playing with them and her brother in the pool or on the playground when she had time.

She got to know John a little too during that week. She learned that he was always up before the sun and drank his first cup of coffee leaning against the Impala in the cool morning air. By the second morning she had a stack of the local papers waiting for him in the office when he came by to gather food from the continental breakfast for himself and his sons.

After eating breakfast, John liked to sit by the pool with his newspapers, sometimes clipping articles and always making notes in a leather bound journal while his sons played in the pool under his watchful eye. Toward noon he'd load his boys in the car and head out, returning only when the sun was setting low. Some nights she'd watch the Impala pull out of the lot as John left his sleeping sons to drive the dusty Iowa roads.

On the nights he didn't leave the motel, Emma found John sitting outside his room. He didn't seem to mind when she brought him a Coke and sat down in a chair beside him. They talked easily of everything and nothing in particular, sometimes letting a comfortable silence fall between them.

The day Emma woke to find room 21 empty was the loneliest day of her life.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"I remember when that monster of a car left," Josh told the two men. "Woke me up as it pulled away. Emma sweet talked the housekeeper into letting her clean the rooms down that side of the motel that day. I think she spent a couple of hours in that room before dad sent me to fetch her out."

"How long does it usually take to clean a room?" the older man asked as the waitress brought yet another round.

Josh shrugged. "Twenty minutes, maybe. Maybe half an hour if the room's a mess."


	3. Chapter 3

**Tumbleweed Motel, Late August, 1989 **

Emma rolled the cleaning cart into the darkened room, closing the door behind her. For a long moment she stood in the dark, breathing the faint scents John and his family had left behind. When she finally turned on the light she stood near the door and let herself imagine John and his sons in the room. The beds were messed and the garbage nearly overflowing, but the room wasn't the disaster she'd expected.

The bathroom floor was covered with towels, and she picked them up wondering which ones John had used. She forced herself to dump them in the hamper without smelling each of them to try and find out for sure. She couldn't make herself do the same when it came to the beds.

From the indentations in the pillows it was easy to see which bed John had slept in. She sat on the edge of the mattress and ran her hand across the sheets, picked up the dented pillow and inhaled John's unique smell. It was a long time before she stripped the pillowcase and hid it under a pile of fresh towels on her cart.

It was only after she'd stripped the beds that she found anything unusual in the room. Along the bottom of the door and the windowsill were thin lines of salt. In one of the garbage pails was a small rag that smelled of gun oil, a smell that she remembered from one of the nights she'd sat talking with John outside that very room.

A small box near the bathroom held nearly two inches of paper, mostly newspaper articles and bad photocopies from microfiche and magazines. She shoved the box of paper beneath the pillowcase on the cart and spent hours later that night reading them over. When she was done she sat on the edge of her bed and looked out the window at the waxing moon. She wondered if John Winchester was a hero that hunted monsters in the dark, or downright insane.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"Found out later she kept a box of things she pulled from that room under her bed," Josh told them.

The men glanced at each other before the older man spoke. "What kind of things?"

"Papers mostly," he replied. He'd lost count of the number of drinks the men had bought him, and now his words were slower and slightly slurred. "I tried to look at 'em once and she nearly took my head off. She added to that box when he came back a couple of years later. She was never as happy as she was when she saw that car pulling into the lot."


	4. Chapter 4

**Tumbleweed Motel, June, 1992 **

The year Emma turned seventeen John brought his sons back to the motel. She was working the front desk when the Impala pulled up just after dark, and by the time John walked into the office she'd managed to calm the racing of her heart.

"Mr. Winchester," she greeted him with a smile. "It's been a long time."

He grinned back at her, his dimples deepening in his smoothly shaved cheeks. "Hey, Emma. Good to see you again."

John paid for three nights and asked for one of the rooms along the back of the motel. Emma watched him as he filled out the registration form, and let her fingers brush the palm of his hand when she handed him the keys to room 10.

He was halfway out the door when he stopped and turned back to look at her. "You still like to drink a soda in the evenin'?" he asked softly. When she nodded, he added, "This time it'll be my treat."

Emma found herself sitting next to John in front of his room an hour later. The low drone of the television came from inside the room, along with the sound of Dean and Sam's voices. She snuck glances at the man beside her as they talked quietly, and it was only when the voices from the room behind them had dropped off that she thanked him for the soda and excused herself.

Back in her room, Emma pulled the pillow case from the box beneath her bed. John's smell had long faded from the soft cotton, but it was still fresh in her mind. She fell asleep with the fabric curled beneath her cheek.

The next morning Emma had a stack of newspapers ready for John when he came down to the office. He seemed pleased she'd remembered and gave her a dimpled smile before he left to take food back to his boys.

John's routine seemed much the same as she remembered, but there were some differences. Rather than let the boys, now nine and thirteen, spend most of their time playing, their activities seemed more focused on physical training. John joined them, directing them like a gym teacher, or maybe more like a drill sergeant.

The Impala left just before sundown the second night of the Winchester's stay and was still gone when Emma got up the next morning. She wondered if John were out hunting his monsters, if he was hurt or if he had just decided to pack up his sons and leave in the middle of the night. When Dean showed up to get John's newspapers and fill a plate with donuts for him and Sam, she had to hide a sigh of relief.

It was almost noon when she heard the roar of the black car pulling into the lot. She stood at the office window and watched the Impala move toward the back of the motel, heard the engine die. Though she couldn't see him, she pictured John getting out of the car, walking to the room and going inside. She wondered if he checked the lines of salt at the door and window or if he fell into bed trusting his sons would see them in place.

Later that evening she carried a soda down to room 10. John was sitting outside watching his sons play tag in the playground with Josh, and smiled as she sat down next to him. He seemed content to sit in silence but after a few minutes Emma cleared her throat.

"Why salt, John?" she asked softly. When he looked at her in surprise, she smiled. "I cleaned the room, after you left. I can see it on the window sill now. I know-I know you do it for a reason, I just wanna know what it is."

John had the look of a man ready to fight, or bolt. After a moment he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I do it to keep my family safe," he said in a low voice. "I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"I don't think you're crazy, John," she replied calmly, meeting his eye without hesitation. "I think you're hunting something, something terrible."

He nodded slowly. "My wife was murdered." His voice nearly broke, and it took a moment before he could trust it to continue. "They said it was the wiring in the house, but I know that isn't true. Some evil son of a bitch killed her, and I mean to hunt it down and kill it. Until I do, well, I take care of anything else that I can find."

"It's been a long time," she said softly. "Do you really think you can find it?"

"I surely do." His voice was hard, sure, and she knew that he would never rest until he'd done exactly what he said.

"Okay." Emma sipped at her soda, watching the boys play across the parking lot.

"Okay?" he asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "You know, most people think about walking the other way when they hear even half that story."

She smiled at him, and in her face he saw the promise of the woman she'd one day become. "I'm not most people, John."

They sat in silence until the sun went down, each lost in their own thoughts.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"He and his boys came through half a dozen times that summer. I remember playing with the kids while Emma sat with their daddy just outside their room." Josh murmured as he sat his empty beer bottle back down at the table. "Don't know why she did it, sittin' with him every night almost like they was courtin'."

The older man gestured to the waitress for another round. "But you said she was seventeen," he said to Josh. "He must have been, what, in his mid thirties?"

Josh nodded. "I don't think the guy ever looked at her like that, at least not then. I asked her about it once, why she was runnin' after a guy dad's age, but she told me it wasn't like that. Said they talked just talked about his job, that he was still in love with his wife. I don't think it stopped her from trying to get his interest though."

The waitress put another round on the table, clearing the empties before smiling invitingly at the older man, who didn't seem to notice.

"You think she tried to, what, seduce him?" the younger man asked.

Josh calmly met his eye. "I know she did."


	5. Chapter 5

**Tumbleweed Motel, Late August, 1992 **

After a long day of school and watching the front desk, Emma had a few hours to herself. There were only half a dozen rooms rented out and most of those were to older couples and she hoped the pool would be deserted. Thankfully it was.

She stripped off the tee shirt she had on over her swim suit and slid into the cool water of the pool. It was times like this she liked best about the motel, when it was quiet and she could swim without anyone interrupting her solitude. Too often the pool was filled with kids or teenagers that splashed and talked too much.

After half a dozen laps she sensed a difference in the air. Stopping in the deep end of the pool, she looked around to see what had changed. To her surprise she saw John Winchester sitting in the hot tub, smiling at her. She couldn't help smiling back.

She swam to the ladder and climbed out of the pool, squeezing the water from her hair as she walked to the hot tub. "John," she said in greeting. "I didn't know you were back."

"Checked in this mornin'," he replied in that gravely voice of his. "Been gone most of the day runnin' errands."

Beneath the choppy water of the hot tub she could see the outline of his lean form, the dark hairs on his upper chest that ran beneath the water. Blinking rapidly, she sat down on the edge of the hot tub and put her feet in the water. "Where are the boys?"

"Couldn't come this time, what with school startin'," he told her. "I'll be headin' back to them first thing tomorrow."

She tried not to be disappointed that he was only staying for one night. When she asked what he'd been hunting he started talking about the zombie he found over in Decatur City, a town about half hour away. She slid into the hot tub with him so they could talk quietly without being overheard.

"I stay in this water any longer I'm gonna be a pruned up old man," he said after a while.

He stood up and she watched the water run from his skin. His body was firm and lean, the farthest thing from old that she could imagine. It might have been perfect but for the bruises low on his side. She reached out a hand to touch them lightly, making him jump.

"Looks like the zombie got a bit rough," she said in a low voice.

"A bit," he replied with a smile as he took her hand and moved it away from his side.

She stood quickly, moving to stand close to him, too close for his comfort and not close enough for hers. Her face was flushed, her breathing quick. Looking up into his eyes the longing she felt was clear in her face.

John took a step back and let her hand fall into the water. "You should be more careful, sweetheart," he drawled softly. "Look at a man like that he might get ideas you don't want him to."

"What if I want him to?" she asked, taking a step closer to him.

He shook his head and caught her wrist before she could lay her hand on his chest. "I'm old enough to be your daddy, Emma." His voice was a low growl, his face closed and unreadable. "Even if I wasn't it wouldn't be right."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"I'm married, for one," he reminded her sternly.

"John, your wife—"

"Doesn't matter," he bit out, his eyes aching holes of sorrow. He let go of her wrist, turned and climbed the steps of the hot tub. "I'll be gone early, won't need the papers in the morning," he told her as he reached for his towel. "See you around, sweetheart."

"John."

When he didn't answer or even turn around, Emma climbed out of the hot tub with every intention of going after him. She'd only taken two steps when she saw her little brother on the balcony overlooking the pool area. His eyes were wide, and it was clear that he'd heard the last few minutes of their conversation.

"Go to bed, Josh," she said harshly.

"Dad wanted me to help you close the pool," he said as he came down the stairs.

With a sigh she turned to begin pulling the pool cover over the water. When she went down to John's room a few minutes later the room was dark. She stood at the door for a moment, her hand raised to knock, but in the end she went back to her own room and lay awake in the dark until just before dawn she heard the Impala roar to life. It was only when the sound of the engine had faded in the distance that she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"Now you have to understand that my sister wasn't some tramp to come on to every guy who pulled into the lot," Josh said firmly, pointing at the table with the exaggerated motions of a drunken man. "She wasn't. She's beautiful, with that long blonde hair and blue eyes, and I know plenty of 'em tried to get in her pants, but I never seen her look at any of them twice. None of 'em was that stranger in the black car."

"You sure about that?" the older boy asked. "Sure there's no way she was seeing someone and you didn't know about it? I mean, girls can be sneaky when—"

"No way, man," Josh interrupted, suddenly sounding as sober as he'd been when he'd sat down at the table with them. "I'm telling you there wasn't nothin' for that girl but waitin' for that car. Dad told her she had to go to college but she was damned stubborn, got us an internet connection and studied online. She was so sure that damned car would be back and she didn't want to take the chance of missin' it while she was away."

The younger man looked at the older one. "It came back, didn't it? A couple of years later?"

"Four years," Josh agreed as if the words were directed to him. His words were slightly slurred again, the slow cadence of a man who'd had too much to drink. "Every day she'd watch the lot, check the reservations, just waiting for him to come back. I think I was maybe thirteen when he finally did, wasn't around too much myself, but I saw that car, couldn't miss it in the lot."


	6. Chapter 6

**Tumbleweed Motel, May, 1996 **

Emma pulled her car into the lot and parked near the office. She got out with holding three bags of Chinese take out and stopped when she saw the black Impala parked halfway down the building. Frozen in place she stared at the car, wondering if it were real or just wishful thinking on her part that it was there.

She was still staring at the car when a tall teenager walked over to it and opened the back door. He was much too young to be John and she closed her eyes against the unexpected pain. John didn't own the only 1967 Impala in the world, she shouldn't have expected it to be his, but it had been so long since she'd seen him, waited for him to come back and see her as a woman, not a child.

"I said I'd get it, Sammy," the boy called as he opened the back door of the car.

"Dad's gonna be pissed if you lost it," a younger boy retorted as he stepped out of room 14 and walked toward the car. "Remember Helena?"

"I remember," the older boy growled. "Here it is, I told you it was in here." Pulling a green duffel bag from the backseat, he slammed the door and tossed it to his brother.

With a smile on her face, Emma took dinner inside where Josh and her dad were waiting. An hour later she was sitting with John and his boys, drinking sodas that Dean had fetched from the vending machine near the office. It was the happiest she'd been in years.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"It was like nothin' had changed," Josh murmured, swirling the last inch of beer in his bottle. "They stayed three nights and she'd be outside their room every evenin' just before sundown. I think she cried when they left, leastwise her eyes were pretty red."

The older man called for another round as the younger one leaned forward. "How long before they came back?"

"They came around off and on for a couple of years after that," Josh replied, "before they stopped coming altogether. Most times it'd be all three of them, but sometimes the old man came alone. Every time they left she made sure to clean whatever room they stayed in, and that little box under her bed became two or three bigger ones."

"She saved everything they left behind?" the younger man asked, obviously surprised.

Josh shrugged. "Never saw what she kept or threw away."

The men glanced at each other before the younger one spoke again. "You say they stopped comin' around?"

"Yeah, 'bout seven years ago," Josh murmured with a nod. "They'd been at the motel for nigh on a week, gone most of the days and sometimes half the night. Then one night Emma ran out of the office like the hounds of hell were on her heels, callin' for me to watch the desk, even though I was a bit busy at the time."


	7. Chapter 7

**Tumbleweed Motel, July, 2000 **

Emma looked up from the desk when she heard the Impala pull into the parking lot. From the erratic way it was moving side to side she knew there was something wrong. "Josh!" she called through the door into her family's living quarters. "Watch the desk!"

Without waiting for an answer Emma bolted out the door. She reached the Impala just as Sam opened the passenger's door and reached in for his father. At first she thought the older man was drunk, and his slurred murmurs seemed to verify that impression.

"Come on, Dad," Sam pleaded as he pulled John to his feet.

Emma moved closer and put her arm around John's waist, steadying him. Heat radiated through his clothes like a furnace and she knew it wasn't alcohol that was making John incoherent. "How long has he been like this?"

Sam looked down at her in surprise. "I think he's been coming down with it for a while," he growled worriedly. "We thought he was okay, but then he wasn't making any sense."

Together they guided the unsteady man to the door of room 19. Emma used her pass key to open the door before helping Sam bring him inside. "Where's your brother?"

"He-" Sam's voice broke with worry. "He told me to get Dad back here. I have to—"

"Sammy," John drawled, his voice low and raspy as they lowered him to the nearest bed. "You have to go back, you can't leave him there to face it alone."

"Dad," the boy protested. "You're burning up. I can't leave you like this."

Emma laid her wrist on John's forehead and gasped at the heat burning into her skin. "He's really hot," she told Sam. "You should take him to the hospital."

"No," John barked, grabbing Emma's wrist and pulling it away from his face. "No hospitals. Have to help Dean." He rolled a little on the bed, reaching behind his back with some effort and pulling out a pistol. Shoving it into Sam's hands, he growled, "Take it, Sammy. Go help your brother."

Sam took the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans as if he'd done it a thousand times, but there were tears in his eyes when he answered. "I'm not leaving, Dad."

"Do you have any aspirin, or Tylenol?" Emma demanded. "We have to bring this fever down."

Sam grabbed a bag from the top of the dresser and dug inside, pulling out a bottle of little white pills. Emma quickly dumped three into the palm of her hand and Sam brought a glass of water over to the bed. Together they pulled John up enough to take the pills with a sip of water.

Emma had barely moved the glass back when John grabbed the front of Sam's shirt in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled the boy closer. "Damn it, Sammy, Dean's gun doesn't have the right bullets!" he yelled hoarsely. "Silver in the heart, son, it's the only way to kill it!"

Emma's hand fell on John's wrist, startling both men. Gently she pulled Sam's shirt from his grasp. "I'll take care of your father, Sam," she said soothingly. "Go help Dean."

The boy looked down into Emma's face, obviously not sure what to do. Dean needed him, but his father needed help too. "Are you sure?" It was only when Emma nodded that he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Just, help me get him undressed," she replied. "I'll throw him in a cool shower and see if I can get his fever down."

Sam nodded and pulled John to his feet. As the older man swayed unsteady between them, Emma and his son began pulling off his clothing. When Emma tried to unbutton his jeans, he grabbed her hands. She looked up into his dark eyes glazed with fever. She hadn't been this close to him since that night in the pool when she was seventeen.

"Still trying to get in my pants, sweetheart?" John drawled with a smile that made Emma's heart jump erratically.

"You're sick, John," she soothed, mindful that Sam was there listening to every word. "I just wanna help you." She twisted her hands free of his and this time he didn't stop her from opening his pants.

"So pretty," he murmured, leaning down to smell her hair. "Smells like lavender."

Sam looked worriedly at Emma as she bent to drag John's pants down his legs. "Are you sure you can handle him?"

"We'll be fine," she told him, hoping it wasn't a lie. As she stood she put her arm around John's bare waist. The man wore only his boxers now, his body lean and hard beneath her hands. Only the heat of his skin kept her mind focused on the matter at hand, which was bringing the fever down. She looked up at Sam. "Go, take care of your brother."

"Shape shifter," John said suddenly, his mind once again on the hunt. He pushed his son toward the door. "You go help Dean and you shoot it in the heart, you hear me, Sammy?"

Sam stumbled back a few feet, staring at his father for a long moment. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he promised Emma before dashing out the door.

"Come on," Emma murmured to John as she guided him toward the bathroom with unstable steps.

Delirious, John didn't seem to understand what she wanted, but he was pliable enough in her arms. He leaned unsteadily against the sink while she turned on the shower, but nearly fell before she could turn and catch him. Swearing softly she knew she'd have to get into the shower with him.

Somehow Emma managed to keep John upright while she stripped to her bra and panties. John was mumbling something about a demon and fire, and had completely forgotten Emma's presence. She got him into the shower easily enough, but he protested loudly about the coldness of the water. If he hadn't been weakened by the fever, she never would have been able to hold him under the cool stream.

Standing behind John with her hands around his waist, Emma held on as the water washed over him. He cursed and struggled, and only through sheer determination was she able to keep him in the shower. When the skin of his stomach seemed to have cooled somewhat, she turned him so that his back was under the water. By then they were both shivering from the temperature of the water, and John wrapped his arms around her, instinctively seeking the heat of her body.

As the minutes passed, Emma stopped shivering and started trembling. It wasn't that she'd never been this close to a man before, but somehow slow dances at prom or bars didn't hold a candle to this. For years she'd dreamed of being this close to John, of having his body pressed against hers like a second skin. Her head barely came to the top of his shoulder, and her face was pressed against the wet hairs of his chest. Without thought her hands went from simply holding him up to caressing the skin of his back. As sick as he was, his body reacted to the change in her touch and he sighed against her temple.

"Shouldn't be here," he murmured softly with a semblance of clarity. "Too old for you, sweetheart."

"Shh," she soothed. "It's okay, John."

She lifted her face to his and kissed him softly. His hands tightened on her back and he pulled her closer as their mouths began to move. Despite the cool water falling on them, heat ran along the line of their bodies. She opened her lips to his tongue and moaned softly as he devoured her mouth. The feel of his skin against hers was nearly too much for her to handle, she felt as if her body would ignite and burn them both alive.

A moment later he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away from him. His eyes were still dull with fever, but they seemed a little clearer than before, if not a little confused. "I don't…." His words fell away as he struggled to make sense of what was happening through the haze of his fever.

"The aspirin's kicking in," she murmured softly. "Time to get out." She reached past him to turn the water off, then grabbed a towel from the rack and handed it to him, avoiding his eyes. Wrapping another towel around herself she stepped from the tub, then turned back to steady him as he followed her. He swayed on his feet, falling back against the sink awkwardly.

"Let me help you, John," she said as she took the towel from his hands. Starting with his hair she began to dry him off, trying not to linger on the smooth planes of his body.

"Emma?" he asked softly, catching her hands. "What's going on?"

She looked up to find him watching her with those eyes so deep and dark she felt she could drown in them. "You're sick, you needed someone to look after you," she replied calmly despite the racing of her pulse. "You were burning up, John. I promised Sammy that I'd look after you."

As she crouched down to dry his legs her eyes fell on the bulge beneath his wet boxers. She swallowed dryly and dropped her eyes, trying hard to ignore the blush she felt working its way across her face. When she stood the towel she was wearing slipped free only to be caught by John's hands on her waist. For a long moment she looked up into his eyes, lost in the moment of being so close to him.

Shaking her head to gather her wits, Emma gathered the towel at her waist and wrapped it around her body once again. She moved to John's side and put her arm around his waist to steady him on his feet. "You need to rest, John." If her voice shook she was thankful it wasn't much. He let her guide him to the bed and would have fallen into it if she hadn't stopped him. "Your boxers," she told him, blushing furiously. "They're wet."

She closed her eyes when he bent to strip them off and tried not to look at his naked body as she helped him beneath the sheets. Once he was covered she let her wrist fall on his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief when she found his skin much cooler than before.

He grabbed her wrist and when he opened his eyes she could tell he didn't really see her. When he pulled her closer, put his hand on the back of her head to guide her lips down to his she knew that in his mind he was kissing a dead woman and she didn't care.

John's hands were warm on her skin, finding the clasp of her bra and brushing the material from her body. She moaned into his mouth when he caressed her breasts, helped him strip the panties from her long legs. He covered her body with his, lying between her thighs.

She wasn't prepared for the pain of his entry, biting her lip and turning her head until the worst of it had passed. Then the pain was gone and the pleasure began. His hips moved in an ancient rhythm, and she met him thrust for thrust. She lost herself in the fantasy that she was the one he was making love to, that it was her eyes he looked into, her name that he called when they came together in a blinding flash that left her breathless beneath him.

When he lifted his head long minutes later to looked down into her face, his eyes were the most coherent they'd been all night. Her fantasy was shattered by the surprise in them, and the disappointment.

"What the hell?" he murmured, his body rigid with shock.

"It's okay, John," she soothed, trying to smile.

Abruptly he rolled off her, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to put distance between them. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Where are my boys?"

She rolled to her side to face him. "You were sick, remember?" she asked softly. "Sam brought you back, left me to look after you."

"Is that what you call this?" he barked in disbelief. He tried to sit up, but dizziness overtook him and he sank back into the pillow.

"I was trying to bring your fever down," she replied hesitantly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Well, it shouldn't have," he bit out as his eyes closed wearily, his face hard. "Go home, Emma. Get dressed and get out of here before my boys get back."

"I can't," she replied softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket up to cover her body. "I promised Sammy I'd stay and look after you."

"I don't need you to take care of me," he growled without opening his eyes.

Without a word Emma got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. By the time she'd cleaned up and gotten dressed, John had somehow managed to pull on a pair of pants and was sleeping. She pulled the blanket up over his form and sat at the table, watching him sleep.

The Impala pulled into the lot just after dawn and she met the boys at the door. Exhausted from their hunt, they didn't notice how she barely said a word, how she was in a hurry to leave them alone with their sleeping father.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"When she came back to the office the next morning, she was different," Josh told them. He'd lost count of how many rounds his new friends had bought, and when he sat his beer bottle down empty the older man gestured to the waitress for another.

"Different how?" the younger one asked.

He shrugged. "Hard to explain it. She hadn't slept, and I'm sure that was part of it, but it was like she held herself differently. Dad didn't seem to notice, but I did. Worried about her and her damn crush. I was damned happy when I saw those boys packin' the car a little while later."


	8. Chapter 8

**Tumbleweed Motel, July, 2000 **

Emma sat on the swing and watched as the Winchesters loaded the car, holding her jacket tight around her body. For a while she thought that John would leave without saying goodbye, but he finally said something to Dean and began walking across the lot toward her. She stood when he got closer, saw the sorrow in his eyes and knew what was going to happen next.

"I'm sorry, Emma," he said softly.

She blinked away her tears and shook her head. "I wish you weren't."

He looked toward the car where his sons waited for him. A few minutes from now they'd get in the car, move on to another town, another hunt. The three of them would follow the road John had put them on the night Mary had died, a lonely road of vengeance where the three Winchester men had only the hunt and each other with no room for anything else.

"It shouldn't have happened. You deserve more than what happened last night," he told her sadly. "I can't be the man that you need."

"You don't know what I need, John," she said fiercely, hating him in that moment nearly as much as she'd ever loved him.

"I know you need more than I can give you," he replied firmly. "You deserve more than I have left to give any woman. That part of me died a long time ago."

She closed her eyes for a moment to hide the pain in them. "I know," she whispered. When she looked up at him he was surprised at how old her blue eyes seemed, as if she were far older than the girl he saw before him. "I know what it's been like for you all these years, living with her memory."

He shook his head and looked away but Emma kept talking, her words tumbling out around him like leaves in the wind. Deep down she knew they'd have no more affect on him than the wind, but she had to get the words out or they'd kill her.

"At least you have something to remember, John," she told him, her voice more firm, more sure than it had been. "And now I have something to remember too. Don't ask me to be sorry about that, because I'm not."

"We won't be back, Emma." He turned to look at her once more, his dark eyes full of sorrow and something that looked a lot like regret. "Look, forget about last night, all right? Forget what happened and find someone else—"

"Could you forget Mary?" she demanded.

His dead wife's name hung between them, leaving him speechless and wounded. He could only shake his head no.

"You'll leave here today and maybe you won't ever look back," she bit out roughly, "but don't ask me to forget you or what happened between us. I will remember you as long as I live, John Winchester, and every—" Her voice broke as tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned her face away and wiped at them with shaking hands. "Just go."

His hand reached toward her for a moment, hesitated in the empty space between them. He let it fall back to his side and walked away but he'd only taken a few steps when he heard her call his name and turned to see her looking at him, her heart in her eyes.

"If you ever change your mind, John," she said sadly, so softly he almost couldn't hear the words, "I'll be here, waiting for you."

Blinking, he looked away for a moment, wishing he was a different kind of man, wishing for the first time since Mary died that he could put aside his vengeance. He turned back to her with a sad smile. "Goodbye, Emma. Take care of yourself."

"You too, John Winchester," he heard her whisper after him as he walked to the car, to his sons, to his private war.

Emma was still standing by the swings when the Impala disappeared in a cloud of dust.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

Josh took a long drink of his beer then sat it carefully back on the table "Didn't think nothin' more about it 'til a couple of months later when she couldn't keep nothin' down. Dad was right pissed when he found out she was carrying. She wouldn't say a word about whose it was, not even when he hit her."

The older man spoke up, his voice heavy with an unidentifiable emotion. "Where's your dad now?"

"Died a few years back," Josh answered evenly. "Never did cotton to the boy, but Emma didn't care. I tried to tell her to leave, to get the hell away from the motel before living there ground her into dust, but she wouldn't go. Didn't even want to sell the motel after the old man died. Told me she'd wait forever, if that's what it took."

"Wait for what?" the younger man asked.

"For that car to come back," Josh drawled as if the answer was obvious. "You know, she tells the boy stories sometimes about his daddy, says he's a warrior, a hero, but ain't no hero I know of would leave a woman in that condition."

"Maybe he didn't know," the older man suggested curtly.

"Could be, I guess," Josh agreed easily enough. "Could be he just didn't care enough to find out."

"No," the older man shot back, his anger rising. "No way. He—"

"Dean," the other man cautioned in voice almost too low for Josh to hear.

"You know, I think I remember seeing you at the motel just before Emma changed her mind about sellin' the place," Josh said suddenly. "Seems like you took off rather sudden, didn't even stay the one night you paid for."

"Business," the younger man replied smoothly. "A, ah, job that couldn't wait. Did your sister say why she changed her mind about leaving after all these years?"

"Said she had some news about Johnny's father," Josh replied.


	9. Chapter 9

**Tumbleweed Motel, March 2007 **

Emma parked her car in the back of the lot, near the playground. She'd gotten out and locked the doors of the van when she saw a car parked in front of room 24, a long black car that filled her mind with memories. She stared at the Impala remembering the hot August morning she'd watched her dark stranger drive out of her life.

The trunk of the Impala was open and a tall man stood behind it, all but the top of his dark head hidden behind the shiny black metal. Her heart began to pound but she wasn't sure if it was from fear or anticipation. John was back, he'd changed his mind and he'd come back to her. She started across the lot, forcing herself to keep to a walk just in case she was wrong.

She stumbled a bit when she saw her son walk up to the side of the car. The boy was a dark haired six-year-old bundle of energy that didn't seem to grasp the concept of strangers. From where she was she saw the boy say something to the man standing behind the car and though she didn't catch the words, she knew from the sound of his voice that the man wasn't who she wanted him to be.

"My daddy's a soldier," she heard her son say as she approached. "Momma says he's gonna come back real soon."

"John," Emma called as she reached the back of the car, her voice nearly breaking on the word. She had to stop him from saying anything more about his daddy.

"Ah, no, it's Sam, actually," the tall man said apologetically. He looked into her face and smiled when he recognized her. His dark hair and dimples reminded her so much of John she had to swallow roughly to control her emotions. "Emma," he added, obviously pleased to see her. "It's good to see you again."

Emma put her hand on her son's shoulder and gently tugged him against her side. "Sam," she mumbled softly. Clearing her throat, she tried to smile. "It's been a long time."

"Yeah." Sam smiled down at the boy at her side. "I was just having a talk with the boy here. Is he your son?"

She managed to smile in return. "He is."

"Dean," he said to his brother as the older man joined them. "You remember Emma, don't you?"

"Who could forget?" Dean smiled with his father's charm. "How've you been?"

"Just fine," she replied, looking down at her son to hide the hope in her eyes. "How is your father?" She couldn't bring herself to ask if he were here with them.

The brothers glanced at each other, their faces grim. She saw Dean shake his head and watched his mouth move, but didn't need to hear his words to _know._

"Dad passed away late last year." Dean's voice was tight with the effort of holding his grief in check.

She closed her eyes, remembering that night seven years before when she'd lain beneath John in room 19, when they'd come together as one in the delirium of his fever. It didn't matter how it had happened, her dark stranger was dead and he was never coming back, not ever. She'd never be able to tell him the truth about her son, never know what he'd have said or thought or if he'd have even cared.

Sam's voice cut through her memories. "Emma, are you okay?"

Opening her eyes, she looked up at the concerned young man standing over her.

"I'm fine," she said with a weak smile as she tried not to clutch at her son. "Just a little tired I think. I'm sorry about your father. He was a good man."

Dean nodded. "He was. I'm not sure we ever thanked you for looking after him the last time we were here."

Emma felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, but she did her best to keep her emotions off of her face even as her hands tightened on her son's shoulders. "You don't have to thank me, Dean."

In an effort to turn the topic, Sam spoke up. "Your son said his father is a soldier. What branch of the military is he in?"

For a moment her chest was too tight to speak. She cleared her throat and forced the air from her lungs. "He wa-he's a Marine," she croaked. "I'm glad you boys are back, but I need to get my groceries put away. Maybe we can talk later." She'd do her best to see that it didn't happen of course. She knew she couldn't hide her grief and she didn't want them to start questioning it.

Without waiting for a reply, Emma guided her son toward her car. Sam glanced at Dean who simply shrugged as if to say _who understand women nowadays?_ The two men watched as she opened the trunk and reached inside, handing the boy a bag before filling her own arms.

Suddenly the boy sprinted toward the office, running across the lot without sparing a glance for traffic. "John!" she called urgently. "Watch for cars, okay?"

Emma's son stopped and looked both ways before continuing across the lot at a fast walk. She followed him into the office without once looking over at the long black car or the two men standing next to it watching her.

**Opal's Bar, August 2007 **

"Did she ever say for sure who the boy's father was?" the younger man asked.

Josh looked between the two men, his face thoughtful. "Dad thought he knew who'd gotten her pregnant, considerin' what she named the boy, but the guy never came back."

The men across from him exchanged a look, but it was the older man who spoke. "I thought the boy's name was John, that's a common enough name."

"Yeah, it is," Josh agreed easily, the drunken slur gone from his words, "but Winchester ain't, and that's what she named him. Jonathan Winchester Reardon."

Both men sat back at that, staring at the empty bottles in front of them as if they'd find the answer to life's questions in the amber glass. It seemed that after the hours they'd spent with Josh they'd finally run out of questions.

After a long moment the older man found one more question to ask. "And you don't know where she is now?"

Josh smiled and finished off his beer, setting the bottle down on the table with a solid thump. "Emma's gone, my friend, and she don't wanna be found, least not by either of you." He pulled the wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, reaching behind the money inside for a small folded envelope. "Told me to watch out for that car though, and if it ever came back I was to give this to the men drivin' her."

He unfolded the envelope and dropped it on the table. The words 'Dean and Sam' were written clear and steady in a woman's script.

"I'll be movin' on myself, got no reason to stay in Redding now," Josh said as he got to his feet, steady despite the amount of beer he'd consumed. "Sorry to hear about your dad."

The two men stared after Josh as he walked out the door and it wasn't until it closed behind him that the younger man picked up the envelope. With hands that trembled ever so slightly he ripped it open and took out a piece of stationary from the Tumbleweed Motel.

_Boys,_ the note read, _I had a feeling you'd come back looking for answers, but what you've heard from my brother is all the answers you're going to find. Things might have been different if John had come back, but he never did and now he never will. I'll take care of my son, keep him safe. That war you're fighting already took one John Winchester from me. I won't let it take another one. I hope someday you can forgive me. Emma._


End file.
